


Enchantment

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Mentions of Het Sex, Mentions of Sam/Others, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Spells/Curses, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: For three days Sam has been leaving the bunker and returning a couple hours later, smelling like perfume and sex.





	Enchantment

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be your run-of-the-mill sex pollen fic. And then ... feelings. (This wasn't supposed to end up being this long. Good lord.)
> 
> Written for the [SPN King Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com/) for the square "Dirty Talk".
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Unbeta'd.

For three days Sam has been leaving the bunker and returning a couple hours later, smelling like perfume and sex. 

It weirds Dean out too much not to ask, “What’s wrong?” after the third time.

Sam halts halfway down the main stairs and already in the process of shedding his jacket. His shirt is buttoned wrong but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care. His hair is a mess, although he keeps running his hands through it so that could be it.

He looks distinctly harried.

“Nothing,” he says, which is bullshit, “Just, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Dean returns as he learns against the banister, blocking his brother’s way down into the war room, “You’re turning into me. What’s up, Casanova?”

The lights are always a little gloomy in an underground bunker but the blush creeping into Sam’s cheeks is visible nonetheless and Dean smirks. “You steal some Viagra when I wasn’t looking?”

Sam groans and finally shoulders his way past him. He’s radiating heat, more so than usual, and Dean steps back. “Just … leave it.”

Dean is about to say something else, his forehead furrowing, because something is definitely off about Sam but he doesn’t get a chance because Sam’s already hurried down to the corridor to his bedroom.

“Right,” Dean says to the empty room. He sits back down at the table, returning to his research. Since Sam seems to have discovered that he’s got a libido, someone’s got to take care of it.

He keeps throwing glances to the hallway, expecting Sam to come back out any moment although he doesn’t know why. Maybe for an explanation. Maybe to go out _again_. Something about that thought bothers Dean thoroughly but he can’t put his finger on it. It’s so far removed from Sam’s usual behavior, it’s just _weird_ is all it is.

When there isn’t so much as a stir even after hours, Dean’s had enough. His vision is blurry from being hunched over his laptop and a pile of dusty books and he can’t focus for shit.

He gently knocks on Sam’s door. “Sammy? You alright in there?”

There’s a weary sigh from inside the room. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right, you sound it.”

A frustrated groan. “Dean.”

Dean mutters to himself, “Alright, that’s it,” and pushes open the door. He doesn’t think he could have been less prepared for the sight of his buck-naked little brother sitting on top of his sheets with his hand between his splayed legs if he’d tried.

“Uh,” he makes eloquently, frozen in the door frame, his hand hovering over the door handle, “Sam?”

Sam gives an annoyed grunt, turning his head to the side. “Sure, come on in.” 

But he doesn’t make a move whatsoever to cover himself. His hand is even still working his dick between his legs, almost lazily, and Dean is trying very hard not to stare but his eyes get stuck on how Sam’s thumb keeps swirling over the tip of his cock.

Dean makes himself blink. “What’s going on?”

Sam is staring at him and it’s unnerving. His hair looks even worse now, pieces of hair sticking to his forehead, and his face and neck are flushed, his lips glistening and he keeps wetting them with his tongue. 

Dean’s aware that he still hasn’t moved and he wrenches himself away from where he’s rooted to the spot, forward, closer to Sam’s bed, and he’s sweating and there’s really no reason for that.

“You know,” he coughs, “the thing I said about the Viagra was a joke but…”

He trails off because otherwise he’ll start rambling. He’s not a rambler, only when he’s nervous and he never gets nervous, this is ridiculous, this is Sam and–

“I can’t come,” Sam says finally and without inflection.

Dean’s brain is still too overwhelmed by the expanse of tanned naked skin in front of him. “What? You can’t–”

Sam repeats, “I can’t have an orgasm,” his voice taking on a hint of frustration. He shifts on the bed, still not even pulling a sheet over himself and Dean realizes something.

“Does … does it hurt?”

Sam hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, not really. Wearing clothes is just really uncomfortable.” 

He sighs. “Before you ask, I’ve got no clue what this is. I just can’t–You know.“ He gestures to his middle and Dean’s eyes are watering with the effort of not looking, of keeping his gaze trained on Sam’s pinched face. 

Dean focused on the part of the situation he’s familiar with – _Sammy’s hurt, something’s wrong with Sammy_ – and takes a breath, “Did you … eat anything weird? Take any pills? Piss anyone off who knows magic?”

Sam scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. He’s still breathless, his cheeks flaming red, but he also looks a little lost and it tugs at something inside Dean.

He sinks to the mattress next to Sam’s hip after a moment’s hesitation. The body heat Sam is exuding is more noticeable here and it makes him want to lean closer and scoot away from the foreignness of it at the same time. Sam reaches for him and it looks automatic, an instinctive reaction. His hand, hot and a little shaky, brushes down Dean’s arm over his flannel before he drops it back onto his stomach.

Dean shivers. Distracts himself by picking at the outer seam of his jeans. “None of the women–I mean, did nothing help? Maybe you … need to keep trying.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing so far and it’s just frustrating for both parties.”

Dean stays silent, too out of his depth to come up with anything else on the spot. Now that he’s paying attention, Sam looks tired to him, more tired than usual, and in other circumstances the entire thing might be hilarious and Dean would give him endless shit for it. But there’s something clogging his throat that makes it hard for him to even speak.

“Sorry for the–” Sam says, gesturing at his own lack of clothes, “I just feel like I’m burning up and everything chafes.”

He even looks apologetic, too, and Dean shakes his head. “I get it,” he says with an unsteady chuckle, “Besides, it’s your room.”

Sam makes a humming noise of agreement and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He has stopped stroking himself but his right hand lies inches from his cock and balls, long fingers brushing up against his groin, and his hips twitch up. 

Dean averts his eyes, fixing them on the door and the slit of light coming from the hallway. “I should … do some research, probably. So we can figure out if it’s something … witch-y.”

Sam makes that humming sound again and Dean wishes he would stop because it sounds so dangerously close to satisfaction and it makes Dean shift on the spot. It’s crazy but he’s beginning to feel hot himself, his own jeans becoming tight and uncomfortable, and he _really_ hopes this isn’t catching.

“Are you–” he says but he has to clear his throat because his voice comes out too rough, “Are you gonna be okay for a while?”

Sam breathes, “Yeah,” and the hoarse breathlessness in that word alone is enough to make Dean jolt. His palms are damp where he’s got them pressed against his thighs.

He thinks maybe it is catching after all because his skin is starting to itch. On impulse he shuffles back on the bed, leaning a little closer to Sam’s body. He’s completely clothed but the heat sinks through two layers and he hears a surprised gasp that may or may not have come from him.

“Dean,” Sam says, his voice strained, “Maybe it’s not such a good idea you’re here.”

“Why?” Dean asks without thinking and it’s truly a stupid question. Sam’s amber eyes are on him, pupils wide and black, shining with something that Dean has seen countless times in his life, often directed at him, but never coming from Sam. 

Desire.

 _Yeah_ , he means to say, _I don’t think it’s a good idea, either_ , but what comes out is, “Let me,” and Sam sucks in an audible breath. His legs fall open wider almost immediately and his eyes flutter shut.

Sam’s reaction serves to dispel some of Dean’s nervousness and even more of his doubts and he kicks off his shoes, kneels on the bed by Sam’s hip. He sets his hands on Sam’s knee and strokes up his leg, growing bolder when Sam moans, fingers pressing into the paler, softer inside of his thigh.

Dean remembers how Sam said nothing he’s tried so far helped and it really shouldn’t be a challenge but it isn’t news that Dean’s wired a little wrong, or maybe this is infectious and it’s already too late, or maybe both or maybe neither. Doesn’t matter.

He takes a breath, leans closer, supporting himself on his elbow, and hesitantly wraps his fingers around Sam’s dick.

It’s obvious Sam is trying to keep his hips still but he’s fidgeting, his mouth clamped shut against any desperate noises. The one that does escape him sounds almost pained.

Dean looks up, taking in the crease between his brother’s brows. “You lied to me,” he says, “You said it didn’t hurt.”

Sam blows out a breath, artificially controlled. “Dean,” he begins in that patronizing voice of his but there’s a great deal of frustration and slipping control in it, too, “I’ve had an erection for three days, of course it fucking hurts.”

Dean growls. “You tell me those things, you asshole.”

“What should I have said?” Sam huffs, “‘Hey, Dean, I think I got hexed because I can’t have an orgasm’?”

Dean digs his thumb into the hollow below Sam’s hipbone. “Yes, that’s exactly what you say. If you can’t talk to me about these things, who can you talk to?”

Sam gives a strangled laugh and his head drops back onto the pillow. “Fair point.”

Satisfied, Dean’s focus shifts back to the task at hand – literally. He slides further down the bed, allows himself to settle between his brother’s spread legs and that in itself should be weird, should feel so wrong that he’d want to run for the hills.

His head is blissfully quiet. All he can see, smell, and feel is Sam. Safe, warm, and it’s strangely easy. The way Sam’s thighs feel against his shoulders, how his cock feels in Dean’s hand, it’s all weirdly familiar.

Above him, Sam makes a sound of pleasure when Dean adjusts his grip, reaches his other hand down to roll Sam’s balls between his fingers, thinking of what he likes himself while simultaneously trying to figure out what Sam likes. He wets his palm with his tongue and goes back to work, jacking Sam with sure motions, rubbing his thumb over the tip and reveling in the twitch of Sam’s hips and the way Sam’s fingers curl against his shoulder.

There is no way he could miss how huge Sam is. It’s not exactly a new revelation but Dean’s never been more aware of it. And it becomes even more relevant when he stops thinking altogether and sinks his mouth down onto Sam as well, flicking his tongue over the tip experimentally before closing his lips around it, sucking gently while his hand keeps working the base.

Sam’s hand flies from his shoulder into his hair and Dean flinches briefly because he’s expecting the pin-prick pain of pulled hair, but Sam just curves his palm around the back of Dean’s head, fingers slightly shaking and pressing into Dean’s scalp, far from uncomfortable. He turns into the contact as much as he can, letting Sam hold onto him while he opens his mouth wider, takes in more. It’s sloppy, inexperienced, and he can’t help it if his teeth catch occasionally but Sam doesn’t seem too perturbed by it. In fact, he’s thrusting up in time with those little nicks, which is … interesting. Dean’s gonna have to explore that further in the future.

Sam’s second hand joins his first and he rasps, “Dean, you–” 

He breaks off there and Dean doesn’t know what he was about to say but it doesn’t really matter because now he’s starting to tug at Dean’s hair and Dean quickly grabs Sam’s wrists and pins them to his quivering stomach. Sam makes a noise that’s almost a whine, shifting his hips as Dean presses him into the mattress and takes his cock deeper into his mouth.

Dean can feel it bump against the back of his throat and he works it like that, swallowing around the tip, pressing his tongue against the shaft, playing and experimenting, and it doesn’t look like Sam’s got any objections to anything he’s doing, judging by the way he’s writhing and squirming against Dean. He’s panting, too, moaning in regular intervals and it almost has a pornstar quality to it, except that Dean knows it’s _real_ , and it makes him brutally aware of his own rock-hard erection that’s still trapped in his jeans. He doesn’t have a hand to spare, so he decides to ignore it for now.

Sam bucks his hips, draws up his knees against Dean’s shoulders, flexing his hands against Dean’s grip. He whines, “Dean, please, I can’t–”

Dean hums. _Yes, you can_. And moves faster.

Sam pulls one of his hands free but he doesn’t bury it back in Dean’s hair, just fists it in the sheets until his knuckles turn white. Dean sinks down again, so far that he almost chokes, and swallows a couple of times, and that’s when Sam comes.

Despite his efforts of working toward that, Dean is taken by surprise. He coughs, gags a little, before he gets himself under control and gathers Sam’s cum on his tongue. He smears it around the tip of Sam’s dick, makes it extra messy and then swallows the rest of it. His hand slows until it finally drops to Sam’s hip.

He looks up. “You came.”

His own voice is full of wonder and Sam stares right back through sweaty bangs, supported on his elbows. “Holy shit.”

Dean isn’t above some gloating and he definitely isn’t above smugness. “I made you come.”

Sam drops back to the bed. Repeats, “Holy shit.”

Dean laughs, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. The smell of sex is heavy in the window-less room. “Can you say something else?”

Sam shakes his head, gives a breathy laugh. But then he stretches out his hand, says, “Come here.”

Dean doesn’t even think about it, he simply obeys. Pushing himself up, he crawls up over Sam, but not without being momentarily distracted by all that tanned skin, shining with sweat. He splays his fingers over Sam’s abdomen and feels him shiver. It’s kind of intoxicating, the way he reacts so violently to every single one of Dean’s touches.

Dean clears his throat. “If I’d known all it takes for you to shut up is for me to blow you, I would’a done that way sooner.”

Sam smiles up at him, clearly recognizing the joke for the uncertainty that it is. Dean can’t even be mad about that. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

Long, strong fingers close around his biceps and Dean is tugged up until he’s kneeling over his brother, almost chest to chest, and suddenly he is painfully – actually _painfully_ – aware that he’s still fully clothed. Before he can do anything about that, however, Sam tugs him down for a kiss and Dean really should have expected that. But as his brother licks into his mouth, presumably tasting himself on Dean’s tongue, Dean is caught off-guard by the novelty of it.

It doesn’t feel weird or strange, just different. Sam kisses differently from everyone that has been there before him and Dean is surprised by how much he likes it, how much he wants to lose himself in it. His elbows are bracketing Sam’s head, the tips of Sam’s hair tickling his bare skin, and it’s utterly perfect.

He’s screwed. Ruined. He knows that much.

He pulls back with a gasp and stares down at his brother’s hazy eyes. Cheeks and lips flushed pink, biting the corner of his mouth in doubtful hesitation, Sam looks like absolute sin. The hottest thing Dean can imagine. He swears he can feel the hellfire lapping at him but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

“You okay?” he asks, entirely too breathless.

“Am I–Yeah, I’m okay, I’m so fucking okay, you’ve got no–” Sam shakes his head wildly, not in negation but lost for words, and captures Dean’s mouth again, breathing him in, nibbling at his bottom lip, and Dean lets him, completely pliant.

It should scare him, the effect Sam has on him. That kind of sedating quality, making him want to melt into Sam’s body, mold himself to him until they both fit together perfectly, no space left in between.

It should scare him but it doesn’t. Making that’s still the spell or maybe it isn’t, who knows.

Sam grips him harder, holds him tighter, and he grinds down on instinct, looking for some relief for his aching cock. He meets hardness against Sam’s hip and halts.

“You’re still–”

“Yeah.” Sam coughs. “Didn’t think it would just magically disappear. Might just take time.”

“If it doesn’t, we gotta look into it.”

Sam nods, but it’s one of those nods you give to make the other person shut up. Dean can’t be mad, not when he’s still this turned on and it’s drowning out everything else.

He tugs at the hem of his own T-shirt. “Sammy, I gotta–”

Sam interrupts him, breathes, “Yeah, yeah,” and moves his hands to help things along, flings Dean’s shirt to the corner of the room once Dean’s got it over his head, and then flicks the button on Dean’s jeans with surprisingly steady fingers. 

Regrettably, Dean has to move off Sam to peel himself out of his jeans but it barely registers before he’s tugged back onto the bed, on his side, one of Sam’s arms tightly around his waist, and the feeling of their overheated skin pressing against each other is delicious. Dean gets rid of his underwear as well and kicks one leg up over Sam’s hip, can’t help pressing his erection into the line of Sam’s groin, seeking friction.

They moan together and Sam’s fingers dig into his skin. “Dean, tell me–tell me what you want, I–Anything, just–”

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen his smartypants little brother this incoherent and it’s truly something to be savored but he is too desperate himself to think about much beyond that.

“I–We got any lube?” he asks, feeling Sam’s fingers flex against his sides again.

Sam hums and reaches for the bedside table. He presses a small bottle into Dean’s hand.

Dean looks at it, turns it over in his hand. “This is almost empty.” It’s not exactly a question even if his tone clearly implies one.

Sam chuckles, making Dean feel the vibrations of it. “What d’you think? I’ve done nothing but jerk off for the past few days.”

“Not true,” Dean says and he isn’t completely sure where it’s coming from, “You fucked those women.”

Sam tilts his head, visibly trying to read Dean. His eyes are dark, half his face in shadow, turned away from the bedside lamp, but Dean can still see his blown pupils, the shine of desire. It punches the breath from his lungs.

“Yes, I did,” Sam says slowly, cautiously and daring at the same time, watching Dean’s every reaction.

Dean can’t deny that the image of Sam fucking some sweet petite blonde – or maybe a brunette? – into the mattress until she’s an incoherent mess is at the same time scorchingly hot and endlessly infuriating. He thinks Sam can read all that right there on his face so he doesn’t bother opening his mouth. He puts it to better use by kissing his brother and presses closer, bringing their hips back together again, grinding against him until the dry friction becomes to much.

He’s still got the bottle of lube clutched in his hand and now he thrusts it back at Sam.

Sam’s lips continue ghosting along the line of Dean’s jaw, clearly not receiving the memo.

“I want you to fuck me,” Dean says and he’s almost proud when he gets out the words without verbally tripping over himself. Because what Sam’s doing is incredibly distracting, for one, but also because it’s one hell of a thing to ask.

Sam’s head jolts up. “What?”

Dean can feel his warm breath against his skin. “I want–I want you to fuck me like you fucked them.”

Sam isn’t exactly gaping at him but his mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide-awake, clearly taken by surprise. But, bless him, he gets with the program fairly quickly and grabs the lube from Dean.

“The first one just blew me,” he says, almost conversationally, “So pretty on her knees but she didn’t make it as good as you did, not by a long shot.”

Dean’s doubtful of the objective truth of that statement, he’s well-aware of his own lack of experience, but nonetheless he believes that it’s true for Sam. He can feel his face heat and Sam brushes a finger across his cheek bone.

“The second one,” Sam continues, tracing the tip of his finger over Dean’s cupid’s bow. Dean’s temped to flick his tongue out and suck the digit into his mouth.

Apparently, Sam’s thoughts are on similar lines because he hesitates, then his thumb presses against Dean’s bottom lip and Dean opens up automatically. Tracing the blunt edge of the nail with his tongue, he lightly closes his teeth around the tip. Sam exhales sharply and hooks his thumb farther into Dean’s mouth and Dean sucks it, not unlike he did with his brother’s cock earlier, and he’s a little surprised at himself because it’s utterly shameless.

Sam hisses, then abruptly withdraws his fingers from Dean’s mouth and wraps one arm around Dean’s waist to flip them around more easily. Dean’s back hits the mattress and he arches up on instinct.

“The second one,” Sam repeats, sitting back, and suddenly Dean finds himself turned around once more, face inches from the pillow and Sam’s large hand pressing him into the mattress by the small of his back, “I fucked her like this, on her stomach, and she–she had the sweetest little ass.”

As if to stress the point, Sam’s fingers dig into the left cheek of Dean’s ass and Dean gives a surprised yelp. He’s shaking, has been for a while, and he’s not sure he can stop, but then Sam’s palm smoothes out and his fingers slip into the crack.

The cold-wet slide of lube is a little uncomfortable but not uncomfortable enough for Dean to move away. Actually, he’s moving back, toward Sam, tilting his ass up to give his brother more access before he’s even aware he’s doing it. He shoves his face into the pillow when Sam presses his fingers into him, muffling any needy sounds that might spill.

It feels unfamiliar and so illegally good that he’s shifting his hips restlessly, his hands fisting in the pillow as Sam’s venturing deeper, until Sam holds him down with his free hand. Dean can’t stop the shudder that flashes across his skin. He curves his back, further into Sam’s touch and he’s burning up already, his dick rubbing almost uncomfortably against the bedspread underneath him.

“Sam–” he begins and then chokes as his whole body jerks and shakes when Sam’s prodding fingers find his prostrate, “ _Holy_ –”

Sam’s hair is tickling Dean’s back and he swears he can feel Sam smiling into the space between his shoulder blades, just before a kiss is pressed there, and he would chide his little brother for being a smug asshole but he can’t find his voice.

Sam rubs the same spot again and again until Dean’s writhing against his hold, so close to shedding the rest of his dignity and just outright _sobbing_.

Finally, mercifully, Sam pulls back and Dean inhales wetly. He can feel damp pieces of hair sticking to his forehead.

“She came just from me fucking her,” Sam says suddenly and it takes Dean an entire moment to remember what he’s taking about. “Think you can do that?”

Dean’s half-sure he could come right on the spot if Sam told him to but he’s not gonna share that particular tidbit. He pushes himself to his elbows and his voice breaking hoarsely when he returns, “Bring it.”

Sam huffs a laugh, his hand briefly tightening on Dean’s flank. He retracts his fingers and Dean’s tempted to hold his breath, anticipating, and as if Sam guessed it, he instructs, “Keep breathing.”

 _You keep breathing_ , Dean wants to say but he doesn’t get the chance because then Sam is pushing into him, hard, unforgiving, _fucking huge_ cock and all Dean can do is groan and tremble. Sam’s body covers his and it should be gross, sweat-slick skin sticking together, but it’s anything but and Dean arches up against him, enjoying the way Sam’s mouth immediately attaches to his shoulders and the nape of his neck, nibbling and kissing marks into the skin.

The image of Sam marking him up with his mouth, his hands, his _cock_ , is so insanely hot that Dean moans again, dropping his forehead to the pillow.

“Good?” Sam asks and it’s sounds honest, really sounds like he’s expecting Dean to give an answer and the thought is so ridiculous that Dean can’t do anything but laugh breathlessly. 

He rolls his hips back into Sam’s, meeting his thrusts halfway, “Yes, _fuck_ ,” and Sam holds him tighter, kisses behind his ear, “I got you.”

He brushes his lips along the shell of Dean’s ear, making Dean shiver again. “You wanna know what the third one did?”

Dean isn’t sure he does but he’s also kind of curious, the image of Sam with all those women sneaking into his awareness again, and it’s not like he can stop Sam anyway.

“I let her ride me,” Sam breathes, hot bursts of air against the side of Dean’s head, “’s was so good, y’know, seeing her on top of me, tits bouncing, and she just _loved_ it. Screamed when she came.”

Dean can’t stop the little whimper that comes out of his mouth. He can’t keep quiet against all those little noises and sounds anymore, his breathing too frantic. Then, Sam tugs him up into a sitting position, into his lap, and Dean groans when gravity lets him sink down further on Sam’s dick, makes him take even more when he’s already so full, and Sam tucks a moan of his own into the curve of Dean’s neck.

Sam’s arms wind around Dean’s middle and he can’t deny that it’s a massive turn-on, just feeling that strength surrounding him, a hard chest against his back.

Sam says, “I’m not gonna make you do that. Bet you couldn’t even hold yourself up right now.”

It’s not meant to be mocking and he’s right anyway so Dean keeps his mouth shut and accepts what Sam’s offering, lets him hold him upright. He drops his head back onto his brother’s shoulder.

There isn’t much room to move in their current position but Sam rolls his hips against Dean’s ass, making him feel it deep inside, constant pressure against his prostate, and Dean digs his fingers into Sam’s thighs. As pleasure coils at the bottom of his spine, he thinks that maybe the idea of coming untouched isn’t entirely farfetched.

Preferably right fucking now.

Dean sinks his teeth into his own lower lip, muffling a whine as Sam’s mouth continues to suck bruises into his shoulders and the back of his neck.

He makes a noise that would embarrass him if he had a mind for that sort of thing right now and Sam grabs him, tips him forward a little, hips back, and somehow the change in angle is oh-so much better, wrenching another one of those sounds from him. 

He tilts his head to the side, lets Sam kiss his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and can barely hear anything other than his own erratic breathing but Sam’s saying things like “So beautiful like this,” and “Can’t believe you’re giving this to me,” and Dean moans, whimpers, writhes in Sam’s arms until his orgasm hits him practically out of nowhere and without anyone touching his cock.

It’s so fierce and sudden that the world goes fuzzy around the edge for half a minute and when he comes back around, he’s on his back with Sam above him. He reaches for him instinctively, still hazy from climax, but Sam snatches his hands, presses them back to the pillow next to his head and intertwines their fingers. 

“Hey,” Sam says, “Welcome back.”

Dean huffs. “Stop gloating.”

His voice sounds wrecked, as if he’s been screaming but he can’t remember doing so, and Sam grins.

“I’m not.”

“You’re cocky.”

Sam’s grin widens. “Maybe so.”

He doesn’t give Dean another chance to respond – which is probably for the best, seeing as Dean’s brain still hasn’t come back online quite yet and he’s out of snarky responses for now – and dips down to kiss him instead. Dean opens up without thinking, letting Sam lick into his mouth, angling his chin up to give as good as he’s getting even if his muscles are still not entirely cooperative.

Sam is still completely hard inside of him and when he shifts his hips against Dean, Dean can’t help the breathy moan that falls from his lips. Sam’s hair is in Dean’s face as they kiss and Dean smells sweat and sex and _Sam_ – soap and warm earth and the slightest hint of vanilla.

He’s itching to touch, his wrists straining against Sam’s grip, fingers flexing, but Sam doesn’t yield, just presses him down harder, and Dean gasps into his brother’s mouth, his body jerking with the zing of pleasure, an entirely unexpected response. Not to Sam apparently because he simply smiles against Dean’s mouth while Dean feels himself flush hot.

“Come on,” he manages, drawing Sam in with his legs, and Sam groans as he sinks deep again. It burns a little now but Dean can’t keep his hips still, bucking up against Sam’s shallow thrusts, urging him with his body to go faster, telling him he’s okay without so many words, and Sam kisses his jaw and then pulls his hips back to push back in, harder this time, and Dean moans again. His mouth is perpetually open, and he doesn’t even care anymore what he looks like, what he sounds like, doesn’t care about all the noise he’s making.

“You know,” Sam says against his neck, voice breathless and a little strained – _Jesus Christ, I did that_ –, “I didn’t fuck any of them like this.”

He lifts his head to look at Dean and Dean blinks, needs a minute to get back on track with the line of conversation.

“Didn’t want to,” Sam continues, eyes intently focused on Dean. Dean has to fight the urge to fidget, not that he can really go anywhere with the way Sam is holding him down with his hands and blanketing him with his body.

Sam gives another slow thrust of his hips, driving into Dean to the hilt, and the feeling of all that hardness inside of him makes Dean’s eyes shiver closed.

“Just you,” he hears and something curls in his belly, more than just arousal, “Just–Just wanted you.”

As Sam picks up the pace, Dean can’t stop himself from squirming under Sam’s hands, his mouth, on his cock, and he didn’t think he could get it up again but his body betrays him, his dick lying half-hard between his legs and he bows his back to gain some friction against Sam’s stomach.

The second orgasm is far from being as powerful as the first one but it’s somehow more intense because Sam’s kissing him, groaning into his mouth as he comes as well, almost at the same time as Dean, and Dean can feel it deep inside of him. It’s entirely unfamiliar and unimaginably hot at the same time. He presses his head into the pillow, crushing Sam’s fingers between his, just holding on, and Sam’s utterly beautiful on top of him, his pleasure plain and open on his face.

Dean finds himself wishing it would last forever. But with the slowly calming heart rates reality sinks back in. They’re sweat-damp and sticky with several other fluids and in desperate need of a shower, but Dean’s afraid that if he moves just an inch the cocoon around them will shatter.

He can barely stand looking at Sam and maybe Sam senses that because he drops down to the bed next to Dean. Doesn’t say anything, just noses along Dean’s jaw, softly presses his lips against Dean’s carotid artery. His fingers brush against Dean’s forearm in random patterns.

“Dean?”

Eyes closed, Dean hums in lieu of a reply, entirely unwilling to work up the energy for talking.

Sam chuckles. “If I’d known all it takes for you to shut up is for me to fuck you stupid, I’d’a done that a lot sooner.”

It’s a joke, a repeat of Dean’s words earlier – or maybe it isn’t. Dean cracks one eye open. “Asshole,” he says without heat. And then, “Really?”

It looks as if Sam freezes briefly, his fingers stuttering on Dean’s skin before resuming their tracing, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He doesn’t answer and Dean sighs, waits. When the quiet stretches, he shimmies away from Sam’s warmth and sits up, letting his legs hang over the edge of the bed.

He can feel the mattress move as Sam shifts behind him, one hand stretched out to touch Dean’s bare shoulder. “What is it?”

It’s a fleeting caress but it makes Dean shiver anyway. “Nothing,” he says, voice sex-hoarse and emotion-rough, “Just–I think I need to figure some things out.”

There’s a brief silence and it’s his moment to get up and leave, dress in his sweats and go to his own bed, sleep till morning. But he can’t move.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam says quietly, “You think you could wait till tomorrow to get started on that?”

Dean turns to look at him. “Why?”

Sam looks weirdly young like this and it knots something inside of Dean. The tousled hair and lingering sheen of sweat make him appear even more vulnerable somehow.

“Just–“ he starts, “Just stay. For tonight. Just tonight.”

Somewhere in a far corner of his brain, Dean’s been waiting – _hoping_ – for this. For Sam to ask so he wouldn’t have to, because he doesn’t think he could. Not now, not yet. For the time being, Sam’s going to have to do the work for the both of them.

He’s nodding before he realizes it. He’s half-sure that if he stays for one night he isn’t ever going to go back, but somehow that thought doesn’t scare him all that much.

“How’s your…” he asks while shuffling up the bed, gesturing vaguely at his brother’s midsection.

Sam laughs and pulls him down. “I’m good.”


End file.
